


Winter, Come Spring

by Grimmseye



Series: forsee obstacles, through the blizzard [1]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Moomintroll doesn't know that snufkin is a species, The Joxter doesn't know he's a father, The author is playing calvinball with Moomin canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 18:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18707488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmseye/pseuds/Grimmseye
Summary: The third year in a row that Moomintroll is woken from his wintertime hibernation, he finds a strange man in his home.The person in their kitchen crouches low, eyes wide, one paw over his mouth and the other caught in the pantry. He blinks out from under the brim of a wide hat.“Snufkin?” Moomintroll asks, and the moment the name leaves his mouth he knows it isn’t so.





	Winter, Come Spring

The third year in a row that he is woken from his hibernation early, Moomintroll begins to wonder if he’s just not meant to sleep through winter after all. 

So of course his second thought is of Snufkin, and if maybe just maybe, one year he could tail along with him. Just one month, maybe. They could even leave early, in fall, so that Snufkin still gets the winter alone. And isn’t that just a wonderful plan, Moomintroll muses, sleepy and soft in the middle of winter, he’ll have to write it down lest he forgets come spring. 

And then there is the sound of their front door creaking open and he remembers with less joy why he is awake in the first place at all. 

Someone is inside the house. 

He’s quiet, heart pounding as he slips from his bed, tip-toeing to his bedroom door. He presses his ear to the wood — is it just Mama or Papa, awake early as well? Perhaps Little My, already up to some mischief. Or perhaps it is a stranger. 

There is rarely danger in Moominvalley, but he’s seen enough of it to know it can come. So there’s a quiet terror in his throat as he eases the door open, wincing heavily when it creaks, and shuffles his way down the hallway to his parents’ bedroom. 

Both of them are in bed. Neither of them are downstairs. Moomintroll swallows hard and approaches, setting a paw on Papa’s arm and giving him a shake. “Papa! Mama! Wake up!” He hisses. 

They didn’t wake last winter, he remembers, breath catching. Will this be another season on his own? Perhaps if he hides upstairs, whoever is down there will just leave. 

And then Moominpapa’s eyes squint open and he yawns — a sound that would be loud if Moomintroll didn’t clasp his paws over his mouth. “Shhh! There’s someone in the house,” he whispers. And Papa’s eyes go wide. He sits up, Mama beginning to rouse now, he swings his legs out of the bed and gets to his feet to grab the rifle that he keeps in the back of his closet. Moomintroll knows there is nothing for it to fire but powder and air. 

“You hold this,” Papa tells him, passing a bat over as well. “But stay behind me.”

“Okay, Papa,” he murmurs back, and the two of them go creeping down the stairs. 

There’s a low creak. Both of them freeze, wait. The cabinet being opened, and then shuffled through. A  _ crunch.  _ Whoever the someone is, they’re eating their food. The two Moomins reach the end of the stairs, and then across their front room, to the kitchen. They wait. 

And Moominpapa springs forward, brandishing his weapon with a shout of, “Freeze, I’m armed!” 

Moomintroll scrambles up to stand behind him, bat held at the ready. The person in their kitchen crouches low, eyes wide, one paw over his mouth and the other caught in the pantry. He blinks out from under the brim of a wide hat. 

“Snufkin?” Moomintroll asks, and the moment the name leaves his mouth he knows it isn’t so. 

The man stares at him, eyes flickering from him to Papa. “That’s what I am,” he nods. And then his head tips to one side. “Is that one yours, Moomin?” 

Moomintroll’s brow furrows. Before he can say a word, though, Papa is sagging against the wall with a breathless,  _ “Joxter.”  _

“It’s been a while.” He smiles, steps back with a bag of vegetable chips in one arm, kicking the pantry door shut with his foot. “Were you really going to shoot me?” 

“You broke into my home in the middle of winter!” But there’s a happiness in Papa’s voice as he sets his rifle safely aside and sweeps forward to embrace the man. “Damn bastard. You’re lucky I look before I leap!” 

“That’s not the Moomin I remember,” the man, Joxter mumbles. His face is scrunched up, but after a beat he sighs and returns the embrace. “But it is good to see you.” 

Moomintroll hovers in the entrance to the kitchen, watching Papa and this stranger hold onto each other for a long stretch of moments. The curiosity burns too insistently, and he has to blurt out, “Papa, do you know this man?” 

The man’s eyes open, no longer so viciously slit-pupiled but wider, softer. Between the hat and the eyes, Moomintroll keeps finding his mind searching for Snufkin in that face. It’s so much sharper, though, even a scar nicked over the jaw.  _ “Papa,”  _ he repeats, with a strange inflection. His tail flicks. “Everyone I know is having children, it seems. No time goes by without change, I suppose.” 

“But not you?” Moominpapa asks. And when Joxter crinkles his nose and gives a vigorous shake of his head, his stone sharpens, “Perhaps it wouldn’t seem so strange if you didn’t vanish for decades on end! Last I saw you I’d only just met Moominmama, and now we have my son here. Moomintroll, this is the Joxter. He’s an old traveling companion of mine.” 

“Oh!” Moomintroll comes forward, curious now. “I see. It’s nice to meet you then, sir.” He holds out a paw, watching the Joxter stare at it for a long beat before tentatively taking it to shake. 

“So what brings you here after all this time?” Moominpapa asks. He crosses his arms. “Not that it isn’t good to see you, but breaking into my home in the middle of winter —” 

“Is not what you would expect?” The Joxter cuts in. A grin flashes across his face, sudden and sharp and gone in an instant. 

Moominpapa squints at him for a moment, and then heaves a sigh. “I guess I’m not actually  _ surprised.  _ But really, why now? If you’ve gotten in trouble with another park keeper, I won’t be sheltering you.” 

“Not this time, Moomin,” he chuckles. “Or, Moominpapa now? That’ll take some getting used to.”

“You get into arguments with park keepers?” Moomintroll pipes up. He’s not sure how he feels when those eyes are on him. They’re the same as his dear friends, but a brighter, dangerous color instead of that earthy brown. He refuses to falter, though. The Groke’s stretch of teeth didn’t scare him, nor would this man’s eyes. “My friend Snufkin does the same. He shouted at one once, and tore down the signs another time. I did get put in jail for some time because I burned them without knowing it, but Snufkin came and saved me.” 

He’s smiling just thinking about his friend. Where must he be now — somewhere warm and beautiful, Moomin hopes, somewhere to inspire a new song. 

The Joxter gives a laugh. “That’s how snufkins are,” he says. 

“Oh, do you know him?” Moomintroll’s eyes are wide at once. He’s always so eager to hear what others think of his best friend. 

“Oh, no,” the Joxter waves him off. “But I am a snufkin, and we love to wage war on park keepers. I’ll tell you once I get a drink.” 

Moomintroll furrows his brow. “ _ A  _ snufkin?” He asks. “But there’s only one snufkin.” 

“Ah…” Moominpapa breaks in. “Not quite, my boy. We call your friend Snufkin because he’s never given us another name. But snufkins are a type of people, just as we are trolls.” 

“Oh,” Moomintroll says, soft. “No one ever gave him a name?”

“If he’s a proper snufkin, he wouldn’t take it,” the Joxter sniffs. “I renamed myself when my old one began to oppress me. And then I changed that one when I felt like it.” 

He pads out of the kitchen, the two Moomins following after him. Moomintroll can’t help but notice the strange bend to his foot, how he walked on his toes and prowled. How much did snufkins vary, then, if they both have tails and paws but his Snufkin has feet like a mymble’s. Or he supposed perhaps his Snufkin is not only a snufkin, as he was found in a box and wouldn’t know otherwise. With his boots on, it’s not like anyone could tell the difference. 

“That’s all well and good,” Moominpapa calls after the Joxter, paws on his hips as the man reckoned out across their couch with a great stretch, “but you still haven’t told me why you’re here.” 

There’s a noise like a  _ ‘mrrrp,’  _ sleepy and soft. The Joxter doesn’t so much as lift his head, just drawls, “I sprained my ankle about a week ago. When I learned Moominvalley was just over the mountains, I knew my dear old friend would let me put up my feet and rest. And in hibernation, perhaps I wouldn’t even be a bother.” His head does turn now, hat tipping and one eye peeking open under its brim. “That last part didn’t work out so well. But, when do my plans ever work out as intended?” 

And Moominpapa blusters, “You’re  _ injured!  _ Lead with that next time you — you — Moomintroll, fetch our first aid kit,  _ please.”  _

“Okay, Papa!” He chirps, and hurries off, even if he’s burning with curiosity about this strange person who reminds him so heavily of his friend. He hurries up the steps to fetch their kit, one that sees much use and is always stocked because of it. 

When he comes back down, Papa is sitting on the couch, the Joxter’s legs splayed carelessly across his lap. 

“I’ll be out of your fur in no time,” the Joxter yawns, all sharp teeth and a curling tongue. “A few days off my feet and I’ll be on my way again.” 

“Well I suppose I’ll be awake for a few days,” Papa sighs. “Thank you, Moomintroll.” He takes the kit and thunks it down onto the Joxter’s chest, whose eyes flash open into a glare. 

“No need to stay awake,” he huffs, sitting upright to begin rifling through their things. “I’ll be having a small hibernation of my own right down here, you won’t even hear me leave.” 

“Have you considered that I  _ want  _ to see you?” Moominpapa’s voice is terse. “Some of us do miss our friends, you know.” 

There’s a long pause. Moomintroll looks away, his paws shuffling on the floor. How long did he say now — a decade, more? What a long time to not see your friend. 

“Well,” the Joxter says. “I  _ did  _ know where I was going, before I was injured. It’s not like I just  _ stumbled  _ upon the valley.”And when there’s no reponse, he growls, “I was coming to visit you! Don’t give me that look.” 

Moominpapa stares at him for a moment longer before nodding, smiling. “That’s good to hear. And what of Mymble, hm? Weren’t you two involved last I saw of you?” 

“Only for a short time after.” The Joxter’s tail flicks. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still fond of her. But we understand each other. Neither of us are the types to settle down — not me in one place and not her with one person.” 

“She has many children, you know,” Moominpapa tells him. “I saw her the winter before the last. Not one of those little imps are yours?”

“Not one,” the Joxter confirms. “From last I saw her, if she ever had a child that was mine — and she  _ didn’t  _ — they would likely be a bit older than your son here. Er… how old are you?” 

And Moomintroll tells him, and the Joxter nods to confirm what he’d said. “I see,” Moominpapa says, tapping his jaw. And then, with a sudden shift in tone, his voice bright, “Joxter, would you mind doing me a favor?”

“Well if depends on the favor, doesn’t it?” 

“It’s a very simple one,” he says. “I know you won’t stay through the season —”

“I won’t,” he nods. 

“— but perhaps you could return for the next? Come back in the spring, my old friend.” 

“And why should I?” He finishes doing whatever-he-does to his ankle, stretches it back across Moominpapa’s legs and lays down. 

“Well, it would mean quite a lot to me if you did,” Moominpapa says. 

“But  _ why?”  _

He looks to Moominpapa, and Moominpapa looks to Joxter, and the two of them are silent. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” Joxter asks. And when the silence continues, he narrows his eyes. “You believe I won’t come if I know, is that it? Well perhaps I won’t come at all. Not because of whatever your reason is, but because I don’t care to see a secret-keeper.” 

“Mama says everyone is entitled to at least one secret,” Moomintroll pipes up. They look to him, and he wonders if perhaps he should have stayed quiet. 

And then the Joxter laughs. “I suppose that is so. Your boy doesn’t leave the valley much, does he, Moomin?”

“I go out all the time!” Moomintroll insists. “My friend Snufkin has shown me all around the Lonely Mountains. And we’ve sailed to a distant island, and a lighthouse, and we’ve found a floating theater as well!” 

“Calm down, Moomintroll,” Papa sighs, making a placating gesture with his paws. “To Joxter, even my worldview is quite narrow. We used to travel together, yes, but he continued to move when I settled down here with your mother.” 

The Joxter sniffs and smiles, seeming quite pleased with himself. “Well, for someone who’s grown up in this tranquil little place, I suppose that  _ is  _ well-traveled. Go further and you’ll learn that secret-keepers are dangerous, Moomintroll. But of course…” He lifts his eyes. “I suppose I can trust a dear old friend not to lead me astray.” 

Moominpapa straightens up in a shock. “So that means —?” 

“I’ll be back in the spring. I won’t say when, but sometime in the spring. The first day, the last day, or somewhere in the middle.” Joxter waves a paw lazily. “But that is later. Now, I am tired. Would you mind putting on a kettle for me, my dear friend, whom I trust?” 

Moomintroll stifles a giggle at his Papa’s flat expression. 

And that is how Moomintroll came to meet the Joxter, though he would not know the significance of this event for some time. For the week-or-so that the Joxter stayed, he was quiet and reclusive when he wasn’t asleep, creeping back into view for mealtimes. He didn’t care much for stories, but would chime in when Moominpapa told them, and that was proof enough that he was interested, and listening. 

Sometimes Moomintroll would see him and believe again that it is Snufkin, for their frames and their hats are much the same. He thinks, as he wavse the man farewell, watching him pad back out into the snow, that his friend would quite like to meet the Joxter, and it was a good thing he would be returning come spring. 

**Author's Note:**

> My first Moomin fanfic... I have a handful of details from all sorts of sources (I'm primarily drawing from Moominvalley, snippets from the books, and the 90s anime). Snufkin's fascination with his parents in the books and the lack of mention in following series is intriguing, so I wanted to write my own take on how... all of that came to be.
> 
> I also didn't edit this yet so I apologize for that. In a bit of a hurry as I post this.


End file.
